Yesterday is Tomorrow (everything is connected)
V
*
"If you've ever been homesick, or felt exiled from all the things and people that once defined you, you'll know how important welcoming words and friendly smiles can be."
- 11/22/63, Stephen King
*
After her rather confusing talk with herself-disguised-as-Harry in the Room of Requirements, Hermione returned to the Ravenclaw Common Room, waving off Barty's concerned looks and calls of her name as she trudged up the tower until she flopped on her bed in the fourth year dormitory.
Philosophical debate aside, Hermione's existence in the past was unlike her previous journey into the past with Harry and the instance of her time turner. There, two versions of her existed; did this kind of magic imply that by September 1979, another Hermione would be born? Or was Granger-Hermione suddenly nonexistent?
What did that mean in terms of paradoxes? If Granger-Hermione failed to exist, did that mean there wasn't going to be an Evans-Hermione? That there had never been an Evans-Hermione? But if there hadn't been an Evans-Hermione ever, then could there have been a Granger-Hermione, to begin with, to get transported back in time...?
Hermione's face pinched as a vicious headache bloomed across her forehead. She moaned, although her pillow muffled it and her face sunk into the feathery marshmallow. Luckily, the dorm was empty, many of her fellow classmates and roommates having much better things to do on a Friday night, especially one before a Hogsmeade weekend.
With any luck, the rumours that would no doubt be flying around Hogwarts of her punching Sirius Black will be overtaken by something that someone would do while at Hogsmeade, or by a rather embarrassing attempt of Potter's on asking Lily out, once again.
No one would remember silly Hermione Evans and her sucker-punching Sirius Black, flouncing away via Shakespeare's quote.
At least, she thought, I hope not.
*
Hermione was early up on that Saturday morning. She was dressed in her civvies, cast-offs of Petunia and Lily's that Hermione thought was similar enough to her comfort-zone of fashion ranging from the 90s to 10s, which also didn't include polyester pantsuits, bell bottoms, or pastel. While Petunia preferred what Hermione called "sophisticated housewife" in blouses and knee-length skirts that reminded her more of a 50s Stepford, Lily was the flower child in Bohemian tassels and blouses, suede skirts and wide-leg trousers or rustic-inspired dresses.
Hermione was neither, opting for the comfort of knee-length skirts, with knee socks and sweaters overtop that reminded her of her original Hogwarts uniform (the skirt lengths were much longer in the 70s, she had noted immediately); or wide-leg trousers with smart, crisp blouses tucked into the high waists; or the not-quite-there-yet popularity of glam punk with her tight black jeans and flannel shirts - her hair certainly fit in with its wild, riotous curls that could either be disco perm or glamorous mane.
Hoping to do as she usually did during Hogsmeade weekends, Hermione dressed in comfortable jeans and flannel - as she would be continuing her research and practice in transmutation circles and wandless magic with Barty, who also never attended Hogsmeade (unlike Regulus, who often went with dates now) - and met with her best friend at the foot of the stairs in their Common Room.
"Are you alright?" Barty asked nervously, glancing up and down at her.
Hermione frowned. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"There are - rumours -"
"About what?" Hermione's narrow-eyed look had Barty struggle for a moment before answering with a sigh.
"That you punched Black?" The rising octave at the end of the sentence made it more of a question than a statement and Hermione mentally groaned.
"Anything else?"
Barty shook his head, his brown eyes wide and entreating as he looked at her. "You didn't really punch him, did you?"
When she didn't answer, he flinched.
"But why?" he nearly wailed as they entered the Great Hall for breakfast. "You don't want the spotlight! You hate any kind of attention - specifically theirs!"
Hermione fidgeted as they sat, and began reaching for some toast, taking in the soft chatter of her Ravenclaw mates and the excited noise coming from the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables behind them.
"It - it was an accident," she murmured offside to him as he bit into a sugary jam tart. "I lost my temper. It won't happen again."
The look Barty sent her was oh, really? to which she stared at him. He muttered, "Well, let's see if that is true, because here comes Black - and not the one we like."
"Whu-"
Just as she spoke, the noise volume around her plummeted as someone slid in the seat next to her, comfortably reaching for her half-eaten toast, plucking it from her hand. Hermione watched, following that toast with her eyes, as it made its way toward Sirius Black, who bit into it and sent her a cheeky grin around the bread.
"That -" sputtered Hermione. "That's my toast."
"It's a tasty slice of bread, love," replied Sirius, the grin still on his lips as he held the toast back out to her to take a bite. "Sharesies?"
Hermione stared at him for a solid minute, incomprehensibly. Sirius looked as handsome as ever, his curls pushed back and off his forehead, his grey eyes warm and practically daring her to punch him again, in casual Muggle wear of jeans and a jumper with a jacket thrown over top.
She then looked around, realized how many people were watching them, and asked, quite sincerely, "Are you lost?"
"Nah, Princess," the fifth-year Gryffindor grinned at her. "I'm right where I want to be." He leaned forward a bit, causing her to lean back into Barty.
Her best friend wrapped a protective arm around Hermione's shoulders, along her sternum, and drew her back further into his chest. His glare smoldered and had it been a spell, Sirius would've been incinerated by the intensity the Ravenclaw was projecting. Sirius, of course, being himself, ignored him.
"Say - Hermione, love," began Sirius, eyes on hers, "D'you have a date for Hogsmeade yet?"
Hermione blinked. "No."
"Oh?" asked Sirius, leaning forward a bit more.
Hermione, in response, leaned back, and Barty slid a bit down the bench, into a scowling sixth year who told him to "watch it, Crouch!", sharply.
She then narrowed her eyes. "Why?" she asked, elongating the vowel.
"Why, love," grinned Sirius, lowering his voice to a husky timbre, "'Hear my soul speak: / The very instant that I saw you, did / My heart fly to your service.'"
There was a hushed silence, a form of baited breath around them as girls leaned in closer to hear Hermione's reply, while the boys attempted to look cool and not like they were watching for their own pickup lines and tips from Hogwarts' smoothest serial dater.
Behind her, Hermione could feel Barty's jaw swing down as his mouth dropped open, being pressed against her temple. For herself, Hermione wondered if she had actually died in her sleep without realizing it because Sirius Black was asking her out. Her. By quoting Shakespeare.
To be sure, Hermione carefully looked around, but nope - he was still looking at her. Frowning, Hermione looked back at Sirius, and said, carefully, "No."
Sirius, in return, blinked. "No?"
"No," she nodded firmly. Behind her, Barty exhaled in relief.
"No... you won't go to Hogsmeade with me?" asked Sirius, in confirmation although his tone radiated his confusion.
Hermione nodded. "Yes."
He perked up. "Yes, you will go with me?"
Hermione wanted to smack her head against the table. "I'm sorry, when did this turn into an Abbott and Costello routine? Black. Read my lips." Hermione leaned in close, in a parody of earlier in which Sirius was now leaning back a little, but his eyes were nearly cross-eyed as he looked down his nose to focus on Hermione's mouth as she enunciated each word, "Not. In. A. Million. Years."
Behind her, Barty sniggered into his tart, happily biting into it again as Hermione re-established the social order of her not being interested in the Marauders, and turned to casually dismiss the now gobsmacked Gryffindor.
Sirius hummed thoughtfully beside her, his grey eyes reading something off her, but got up from the table. He did lean down, hovering his mouth just by her ear, and whisper, "Until later, Princess."
Before leaving, he gave her a jaunty flick of his fingers goodbye, as well as a wink. He then returned to the Gryffindor table. Immediately, the noise level rose and Hermione could hear parts of the many conversations going on around her:
"-punched him yesterday-"
"-it was in the library!"
"-sweet, reciting love poetry-"
"-that was Shakespeare, Delaney, Merlin; aren't you supposed to be a Ravenclaw?"
"-what a tart, turning down Sirius Black-!"
"-he's a dreamboat!"
Hermione sighed, looking down at her plate. Maybe she should have gone with 'exit: pursued by bear' as her parting line the previous night instead? And worse, she thought mournfully, Black had taken her toast.
*
If Hermione had hoped that Sirius Black's interest in her would wane, she was grossly underestimating the teen's tenacity to go after something that intrigued him - a credit to his future animagus form, or one that he already had, she surmised.
Sirius tried to sit with her and Barty at dinner again, nodding to her friend and turning to her with a smile and a partially wilting flower that he magicked up with a deft flick of his wrist as he presented it to her.
"'Love sought is good, but giv'n unsought is better,'" he recited, imploring her with wide grey puppy dog eyes to take the flower.
Hermione looked at it, and then at Sirius, and said, blandly, "That's kind of ironic," and then turned back to Barty, as they were in the middle of their charms homework. Sirius pouted, looking down at the wilted flower, and blanched.
"Erm," he said, looking around the Ravenclaw table, but other than several young girls and a few boys, the one he was trying to get to know better was ignoring him.
"-Flitwick said that if you give a bit more of a curl at the end of this spell, though, it'll throw off the entire arithmetic formula," Crouch was arguing, glancing up from their shared notes.
Sirius leaned forward.
Hermione shook her head. "Yes, if you leave the spell the way it is - but if you change the casting - from arcanum revelare to revelare abscondita, you can add the flourish at the end."
Interest piqued, as a part of his brain was going are they inventing and modifying spells?, Sirius leaned forward a bit more, and then shuffled along the bench so that his thigh pressed against Hermione's.
She glanced at him. "What?"
He looked at their notes, which were covered with the fourth-year curriculum Flitwick taught - it was a spell for revealing hidden items, mostly used for inks and misplaced socks - but then at the different coloured ink that Hermione and Crouch were using to adjust the spell to make it more powerful. A series of equations and strange symbols and lines made Sirius blink in surprise.
"This is - seventh-year material!" sputtered Sirius, eyes wide.
The look Hermione and Crouch gave him made him feel like he just missed a first-year answer to a question McGonagall just asked.
Beginning to fidget, and thinking that maybe he was out of his depth, he left. Hermione and Barty would later call it "running away" (which Regulus would mention was something Sirius did quite often to avoid things that made him uncomfortable), but Sirius would argue it was a "strategic retreat."
He needed some help from the Marauders.
*
Sirius turned up outside of Transfiguration on Monday morning, with a wide grin and a pleasant, "Morning, Princess!" as he strode up to her, clearly recovered from his Saturday retreat to plan a new attack.
Hermione, squished between Barty and Regulus, took one look at the Gryffindor, shoved her book bag at Barty, and turned on her heel.
"Wait! Hermione! Love! Come back!" shouted Sirius behind her as she disappeared in the crowd. Behind her, she could see him standing on his toes and trying to find her, waving his arm as frantically as she did in her first year in her first life when she knew the answer to a question.
But she sure as hell heard his voice with an extended sonorous in the halls cry after her, "'For stony limits cannot hold love out, / And what love can do that dares love attempt'!"
"Mr. Black!" cried McGonagall, "What is this shouting nonsense?"
Hermione's lips turned up and she ducked down a secret passage to Herbology. It was somewhat amusing. And it was nice to see Sirius smile, acting more his age than the rough, worn-out man he'd become.
I suppose I can allow him some fun, she thought generously. But I'm not going to make it easy for him to talk to me. And I won't be going on a date, either.
The mental image of her and Sirius on a date to Madam Puddifoot's - and even better, Harry's reaction - kept the grin on her face for the rest of the day.
*
On Wednesday, Hermione thought she had escaped Sirius, ducking and weaving between classmates and crowds, eating in the kitchens, and generally avoiding her usual haunts of the library, the clock tower, or the Room. The Room of Requirement was incredibly helpful, as well, but if she spent too much time in there, it failed to be a secret; Regulus was bound to be more suspicious than he was and Barty couldn't keep a secret from him if his life depended on it.
Instead, Hermione took advantage of the crisp November snow and went for a walk around the Great Lake, snacking on an apple as she mentally calculated the next step for her transmutations. She had mastered several early charms and spells in the Hogwarts curriculum, but Hermione had others plans.
While the majority of the student populace was inside the castle, Hermione figured now was an excellent time to make her next attempt: transmutations without a spell. Theoretically, Hermione posited that she could use her magic instinctively to create what she needed without the arithmetic equations that were bound to many spells. Once she knew the properties of what she wanted to transfigure or transmute, it would be like muscle memory - one she wanted to test on a patch of snow under a tree near the Lake.
Taking a bite out of the apple, and sinking her teeth into it deeply to leave it partially hanging out of her mouth, Hermione shoved her arms out in front of her, palms out with the left on top of the right with her thumbs touching in a triangular shape.
Her eyes closed, and she took a deep inhale through her nose (mindful of the apple still in her mouth), and then swung her arms gently down, separating the two hands in a wide arc away from one another, picturing the snow melting, the water reforming and freezing, turning away to reveal the barren grass below as it rolled and condensed into three separate, perfectly shaped balls -
"Princess!"
Hermione's eyes popped open and whatever magic she gathered in her hands dissipated, and she inhaled, choking on a bit of apple as her teeth came down fully and took a chunk out. The apple dropped from her mouth to the snow, and she whirled to stare at Sirius.
The Gryffindor was grinning at her, surrounded by his friends, but his grin slipped off his face as he realized that he had startled her badly.
Hermione coughed, her hands in front of her mouth, but then Potter was there, slapping her hard on her back and staring down at her from behind his round glasses, muttering, "Hermione, you okay? Breathe. Breathe, Hermione!"
Her face was bright red as she finally managed to either swallow the apple piece or cough chunks up into her hands. Those in her hand she swept away with a nonverbal and wandless scourgify from her skin, leaving it a rubbed pink, and there were tears in her eyes. At her side, Potter rubbed circles on her back. It was strangely comforting - much better than Harry's awkward pats.
Sirius's face was ashen and remorseful as he slowly took a step closer to her. "Merlin, Evans, I'm sorry - I didn't know you were eating anything."
Snuffling a bit and blinking back her tears from the coughs, Hermione took a deep breath and balefully glared up at the much taller teen.
"What are you doing out here?" she grit out.
Sirius blinked, looking at her and then Potter, and then Lupin and Pettigrew, the latter two who both held brooms in their hands. "Ah - we were practicing for Quidditch." Then his face changed and his voice rose earnestly. "And what were you doing out here? What was that that you were doing? I've never seen magic like that!"
Hermione eyed Lupin and Pettigrew - knowing the future possibility of what Pettigrew would do - and decided to keep her abilities quiet. Instead, she sniffled delicately and tilted her chin out. "I don't have to explain myself to you, Sirius."
"Erm," said Potter from Hermione's side.
"It's bloody freezing out here, Princess!" retorted Sirius, and as if on cue, a chilly wind kicked up and Hermione involuntarily shivered. "You should be inside, where it's warm!"
Is he... being serious? Thought Hermione, stifling a giggle at the pun her brain went to. Instead, she shook her head and dug deep for the ire she usually felt.
"Excuse me," huffed Hermione, "Who do you think you are? My dad? I can be outside in the cold, if I want, Black!"
Pettigrew's head was bouncing back and forth, as he watched them bicker, while Lupin sighed. Potter hadn't removed his hand from Hermione's back, and the warmth from it soaked in through her jacket as he tried again, tentatively saying, "Pads. Pads - really - c'mon. Leave Evans be, yeah?"
Sirius's own head whipped around to look at his best friend. "Leave her be?" he echoed. "Like you leave her sister alone?"
Potter flushed a very embarrassing red that clashed with his Gryffindor scarf. The hand on her back twitched, but Potter didn't add anything else to the conversation.
Instead, Sirius turned back to Hermione, eyes troubled as they looked at her pink and glove-free hands, to her free hair and scarf-less neck, as well as her thin flannel, sans jacket. "Do you have a death wish, woman? Get inside!" at that pronouncement, Sirius went to unzip his jacket. "Merlin - you're shivering - take my jacket and keep warm!"
Hermione stared at him just as Lupin stepped forward and said, "Hey now, Padfoot - it's cold out, why don't you keep your jacket on?"
"Black," said Hermione, her voice tight, feeling odd as she was about to say something Ron Weasley once told. "Are you a wizard or not? It's called a warming charm for a reason."
There was a sly look in Hermione's eyes as she asked, innocently, "Or are you having wand performance issues?"
The stupefied look on Sirius's face - like he got hit with a wet fish - was worth the last five days' of Sirius Black tracking her down and reciting Shakespeare to her. And this was hopefully the end of it.
The hand on her back twitched again - just a bit -, and then Potter was trying to muffle a snort, but it was contagious and both Pettigrew and Lupin were fighting back smiles.
"Oh," said Black, blinking. There was a gleam in his eyes when he spoke next, his tone of grudging respect. "Oh. Well played, Princess. Touché."
She nodded once and stepped away from Potter, who let his hand slide down her back as she did so. When she shivered next it wasn't from being cold, but she refused to analyze it. "Excuse me, boys. I have somewhere I need to be."
She then walked between Potter on her right and Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew on her left, never looking back, even when Sirius shouted after her, "'For stony limits cannot hold love out, / And what love can do that dares love attempt.'"
She sighed.
*
She had hoped that Sirius's notorious roving eye would have meant that his interest in her would've faded by Friday when her appointed tutoring hour with James Potter rolled by.
Unfortunately, it hadn't.
Hermione valiantly ignored Sirius sitting at the same table with her and James for the first forty minutes. As per their routine, James handed Hermione his returned homework for her to check over, while she had him do a late-semester third-year revision quiz. He had speedily progressed to the point that just before the winter holidays, Hermione thought he would be on the fourth year material and potentially ready for his OWLs at the end of that school year.
Once he completed the revision, Hermione asked him to review the mistakes she pointed out on his homework; he would attempt them again while she reviewed his quiz. They worked in silence for the first hour, usually, and it was no different that night except for Sirius's gaze on her.
It made her nervous. His eyes never left her face, or rather, her, as she sometimes glanced over to see the grey dip to her hands or her neck. She was sure there was a blush on her cheeks and potentially a streak of ink on her cheek.
Despite that, the teen remained surprisingly silent.
It was unnerving.
Potter's nervous glances toward his friend didn't help either.
Hermione was on the last set of revisions on Potter's paper when Sirius sighed, loudly. Her quill streaked red ink across the page and she swore loudly and colourfully.
"Hermione!" cried a delighted Sirius, eyes bright.
"God-fucking-damnit, Sirius!" Hermione slammed her quill down on the table and snapped her fingers over the parchment, watching as her nonverbal tergeo siphoned the spilled ink into a large red blob that, with a directed flick of a pointer finger, returned to her inkwell. "What is your problem? Hmm? Why won't you leave me alone?"
"Because you're so interesting," he replied, a bit lovesick.
Hermione's eyes narrowed on him. "What."
Sirius sat up, eyes wide and pushed his curly black hair off from his face up and over his forehead. He grinned at her. "You're smart, Hermione. And - and powerful. You're kind, even though you hide it behind this awesome mean persona that would make the Slytherins weep with fear. You're ahead of everyone in your two favourite subjects, Arithmacy and Charms, and the professors love you."
"Black..."
Sirius's voice, which had been energetic and prideful, softened. His grey eyes which were stormy, melted into a soft dove grey instead and his shoulders relaxed, curling just a bit.
"And - and I know you don't like my attention," he continued
Hermione's ire at the teen began to dissipate slowly, like a smothered fire with only tendrils of smoke softly wafting through the air.
Sirius finally looked away. "But even though all you saw was me shouting at you - trying to get your attention - I watched you all the time."
Potter snorted, and Hermione cut her eyes to him. He nodded emphatically and mouthed, "All. The. Time."
"And I saw you with Crouch," continued Sirius, bitterness and guilt creeping into his voice. "And - and Reggie."
Hermione sighed. And... there goes the last remains of anger I had towards him. She took a deep breath and remembered the man he would become with twelve years of Azkaban and guilt behind him. She softened her tone. "You have the capacity for great love - I've seen it with your friends. You can be an amazing person, a true Gryffindor: strong, brave, chivalrous."
Both Sirius and Potter were staring at her now.
"But to be those things, for the love of all things holy, I swear to God," sighed a very exasperated Hermione, "grow up."
"What?" squeaked Sirius, his voice high. He cleared his throat.
"You heard me," said Hermione, sending Sirius a rather dry look. "If you want to talk to your brother, go talk to him. You don't need to pretend to be interested in me to do that, especially just because I have an in with the Slytherins. He's your brother."
Sirius's mouth dropped open and then it closed, leaving him gaping like a fish out of water for a bit. "I-"
A part of Hermione was desperately upset at the fact that Sirius was using her to talk to Regulus, but another part of her understood. She, Harry, and Ron got to know the younger Black brother through his heroic and suicidal deed of stealing the locket Horcrux, and even Kreacher could be convinced to share a few stories of the Slytherin on particular maudlin days post-war. The three of them ended up admiring the young man who died at eighteen - barely four years from now in this timeline - and Hermione could understand the pressure that Sirius was under to avoid his brother while wanting to keep an eye out for him. Finding a link between the two - her - as a go-between was smart.
But damn if it didn't hurt just a bit. What she doomed to be a second thought by all men? The hot taste of bile rose in her throat and her stomach rolled.
With her hands trembling, Hermione turned to Potter, and said, "I'm sorry - I can't do this tonight. We can meet up later to go over things if you want, but I can't stay here."
She gathered up her things, shoving them in her bag. She was caught in a series of memories as they flashed by; leaving her confused and despondent - where was the man she would know in him? She barely recognized him between the malicious glee in his pranks or the casual disregard for people's feelings. Where was the man that stood up for his godson? The man who would sit and stare at the bottom of a glass and recognize and realize his past mistakes and tried to atone for them?
"Hermione."
Hermione looked up at the gentle calling of her name. She blinked furiously a few times, as Sirius's face was swimming - were those tears in her eyes? The teen had a hand stretched out towards her but it failed to touch. There was a wry smile on his face - a twisted, bitter thing - and the shock of something familiar from her Sirius had Hermione freeze.
"I'm sorry," he continued. "I don't say that often, so treasure that, okay, Princess? I'm the one who crashed the tutoring session - twice now. I'm leaving. I won't bother you again."
"Padfoot?" murmured a surprised Potter, who had remained frozen in his seat, but watching the two, thinking another punch was well on its way.
Sirius turned to his friend and muttered something too low for her to hear. Slowly, Potter nodded, his hazel eyes slipping from his friend to Hermione, standing at the table with her chair pushed back behind her.
The other Gryffindor paused, just for a moment, and then said quietly, "It wasn't just because of Reggie, Princess," and then disappeared behind a tall stack, his steps muted against the wood and turning light as they were swallowed by the other ambient noise of the library.
She was still standing seconds later, frozen. Potter was looking at her with worried eyes. "You alright, Hermione? We can pick this up later if you want. We don't need to continue."
She blinked at him; taking in what he just said that. Slowly, she sat, eyes on her hands, willing them to stop trembling with nerves.
Potter didn't say anything as she slowly unpacked her notes and quills and ink, nor did he speak when she handed over his graded revision. Instead, she slowly began speaking about integers, almost haltingly. But Potter listened, nodded, and only asked her a question when he needed it. Otherwise, it was the quietest tutoring session that ever had.
And when he left, before her, he stopped at the side of her chair. He looked down, she looked up, and he tentatively rested his hand on her shoulder - for a single, breathless moment - and then was gone.
Huh, thought Hermione. Maybe there actually is a bit of Harry in there to see.
*
True to his word, Sirius didn't bother her again. He was no longer shouting Shakespearean love lines at her, nor was he appearing wherever she was, much to Barty's pleasure. Rumours of Hermione turning him down one too many times meant that people shifted their attention from her to the (obviously) heartbroken Sirius Black, who suddenly had an influx of dates for the last Hogsmeade weekend before Yule break.
With a sigh of relief, Hermione was once more - partially - invisible. Kind of anyway, because every so often, she would feel someone's eyes burn into her back, which faced the Gryffindor table. She never turned around to check who it was - she knew it wasn't Lily, because her sister would just come and sit with her if she wanted to sit and talk and she was the type to pull everything out after cornering them - and Barty never sat opposite from Hermione to check, either. The only one facing the Gryffindor table was Regulus, and despite the assessing grey eyes and the cool smirk on his face, he didn't tell her who it was, either.
(But she had her guesses.)
Slowly, equilibrium was achieved, and a month after the disastrous morning of November's Hogsmeade weekend, at the start of December's, Hermione felt that this was how it was supposed to go: her, in Muggle clothes with an open Advanced Transfiguration text, next to Barty, planning their London outings over the break, and conspiring on how to sneak Regulus away from another Yule party with his family.
"-I heard that there was going to be an amazing New Years' bash," Barty was saying, quickly shovelling in bites of his breakfast for their full day out. She listened fondly to his exuberant voice. "From Elliott Smith? Remember him? Hufflepuff, a year up, and we met him as we were leaving the Leaky in the summer. He was also at Amos Diggory's 1974 'do and said that the man is going to host another this year. Full Muggle, at some pub in the middle of nowhere. What do you say, Hermione? Hmm? Let's?"
"Are we formally invited or crashing?" she asked patiently, shutting the book and slipping it into her book bag.
"Oh, crashing," nodded Barty emphatically, eyes wide with mischief. "Definitely. We'll bring Reg, too." He paused, tilting his head to the side. "Have you got his gift yet? For Yule?"
Hermione gave Barty some side-eye and a quirk of her lips. "What makes you think I have yours?"
He stared at her for a moment, and then let out a laugh. An arm stretched out and around her shoulder, hauling her into his side tightly. He leaned his chin on her bushy head, and Hermione - fully taking advantage of (not-)Harry's advice to live her life, to make her own decisions as though nothing could mess up the timeline, and leaned back into her friend.
"I don't know what happened," whispered Barty quietly in her ear, his voice low, "But I like this you. You've changed - since you started tutoring Potter, and even after that Black nonsense. Whatever it is - don't let yourself go back to how you were before."
"I won't," she promised quietly, snaking her own arm around his back and squeezing.
They sat in silence for a bit, and then, as students slowly filtered from the Hall to the Clock Tower, Hermione and Barty joined them waiting in line for a carriage. Regulus slithered up at one point, dressed impeccably in his pressed trousers and cloak, his black, curly hair a mop on his head but artfully styled.
"Morning," he said, the words crisps and clear in his rounded Pureblood tones. "Where to, first?"
The three exchanged glances as they moved up several spots.
"Honeydukes?" suggested Barty, naming his favourite shop.
Hermione eyed him fondly. "Have you already gone through your stash?"
Regulus snickered behind a hand as Barty pouted. "You say that like it's a bad thing! Besides, you just want to visit Scrivenshaft's for a new quill - that's the, what? Fourth you've broken since beginning to tutor Potter?"
Hermione's amusement disappeared quickly and she scowled at her friend, while Regulus's snickers grew louder.
They were at the head of the queue, and then in one of the (not so) horseless carriages. Easy conversation flowed between the three, with Hermione relaxing into the hard black leather of the carriage's seats until they were through the gate and at the Hogsmeade station.
Between Honeydukes, Scrivenshaft's, and Zonko's, they made quick work of any shopping desires, and Hermione even had time to slip away from the two males to get their Yule cards and to place the final touches on their presents.
By noon, their stomachs were growling and they laughingly entered the Three Broomsticks, which was noisy and loud, as several others had the same thought as they did. However, Regulus's keen eyes found them a booth tucked in the far corner, the furthest from the door along the front by the window so that they could gossip and window watch.
It wasn't until they were done their meal that Hermione realized the group of teens sitting nearby, one in particular who kept glancing over, thinking he was subtle. When Hermione finally caught the grey eyes, she quirked an eyebrow.
The teen sighed, and muttered something to his friends, shoving his hands into the pockets of the leather jacket he wore, and he slouched and strode over, around discarded seats and a few knapsacks on the sticky floor.
Hermione watched his progress until he was standing at their table, shifting uncomfortably as he waited to be noticed. The conversation between Barty and Regulus trailed off, with Barty glaring at the Gryffindor teen hotly.
Barty was slowly reaching for one of his last chips, never taking his eyes off Sirius as he brought it to his mouth and began munching on the soggy potato. Sirius grimaced but nodded at him, as well. "Crouch." His voice was significantly warmer when he turned to Hermione. "Evans." His eyes then turned to the teen sitting across from Hermione and Barty.
Regulus stared coolly at his brother. "Sirius."
Sirius shuffled a bit and nodded, sharply, once. "Reg."
Regulus leaned back in the seat, adopting a very carefree and relaxed pose. "What brings you to our table?"
"I - ah - I -" Sirius flicked his eyes over at Hermione, almost in desperation as something close to panic and annoyance crossed his face, shortly. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, determination was writ on his face.
"I'm staying at the Potters for Yule, Reg. I wasn't sure if I would see you again before school starts back up in January, so..." he trailed off, sighing loudly and glancing away. A nervous hand ran through his hair. Finally, he shrugged and withdrew a small package from his leather jacket pockets.
Hermione watched as he made an aborted motion - first to almost tossing the item carelessly onto their dirty tabletop - but then he gently placed it before his brother. "Happy Yule, Reggie."
Regulus stared hard at the gift for several moments. From her position - and Barty's as well - they could see the emotions flit across his face: shock, suspicion, annoyance, and then finally, resigned acceptance and a bit of fondness.
The younger Black reached for the gift and drew it close to him. "It's not going to blow up in my face, is it?"
Sirius barked out a laugh. It was so eerily familiar Hermione startled a bit. "No. No, Reg, it's not - I swear on my honour as a Marauder that it's not a prank."
"Hmm," replied Regulus, but he carefully placed the gift in the pockets of his own cloak. When he looked up at his elder brother, his own grey eyes were bright. "My thanks. Happy Yule, Sirius."
Sirius bobbed his head in a strange sort of not-quite-a-nod at his brother and Barty, who had his eyes narrowed and then turned to Hermione. "No sonnets this time, Princess."
"Oh?" Hermione's own eyes narrowed and she leaned back in her seat, but unlike Regulus's cool look, she crossed her arms combatively.
Sirius shook his head. "Just -" he paused, his head cocked slightly to the side as though he was listening to something else. "Just, thanks."
He then turned and stalked back through the busy room of the Three Broomsticks, until his friends who crowded him, speaking all at once, and then they were gone, through the door with a cold blast of December air.
"What just happened?" asked Barty eventually, dragging his last chip through the leftover ketchup. He began to draw patterns that Hermione recognized as Arithmacy equations.
Hermione turned to look at Barty and then past him, out the window. Through the thick glass, she spotted twin blurry black heads crowd together with two sandy blonds.
"I think we just witnessed Sirius Black growing up," she said with a small grin on her lips. At Barty's look of horror, she laughed.
And across from them, Regulus leaned back in his seat, a small, contented smile on his lips as he hand, under the table, turned over the small gift in his pocket, again and again, reassuring himself it was still there.
*
TBC...